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I will not say, "I have no fear."
for unknown shores lurk
quizzically
behind the morning mist,
but I do know as Auden did,
rare
beasts are there, and
such an odyssey of light
to make of sleep a
badinage,
regret, a feather in the air.
My friends, beloved,
those I wronged with
little
words, or perfidy,
I still have time to
grieve of that. If I
could
bathe your feet
and sponge away
the soil I strew
across your paths, my
peace
would be complete. Alas
I see it still.
The undone tasks
I set aside still wait
as my
memorial, that irony
my own self-gift,
its shameful cross, now yours.
This night will have its dawn
quite soon, and I can
say,
"Adieu," for these leavetakings
too, are meant for God.
We part.
But you will know
that I am always here
to watch and smile and
celebrate
the little joys. To walk with you
across the ridge, to
sojourn
in your dreams, and finally
to greet you on another morn,
I
know, for love can never die.
